


This War Will Find You

by firefright



Series: Revolution in Parts [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Injustice: Gods Among Us
Genre: Accidental Death, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick Grayson is Deadwing, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Ghosts, M/M, Nobody is Happy in Injustice, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 00:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5805910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason's spent the last five years trying to stay out of Superman and Batman's war of ideologies, but when Damian tracks him down his days of impartiality are numbered.</p><p>One way or another, he's going to have to make a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This War Will Find You

**Author's Note:**

> This came into being over me constantly wondering where Jason is in the Injustice-verse after binge-reading the comics. Of course I couldn't resist working in some ship-feels at the end.
> 
> Tags for this story are accurate, just to warn you all ahead of time.

Jason has the gun pointed at the window before the brat has even finished climbing inside.

"Get out."

"Todd -"

"I said get out." Jason cocks the pistol to prove he's serious, a thin layer of calm the only thing keeping the all consuming rage at bay. "And take that off, it's not yours. You have no God damn right to wear it."

Damian does neither of those things. He doesn't even raise his hands as Jason aims down the sight, finger caressing the trigger. "You know that won't kill me."

"No? All hopped up on your regime's precious magic beans, are you?" He mocks, the leather of his gloves creaking as he tightens his fist. "Didn't daddy-dearest ever give you the talk on drugs and beanstalks?"

Jason knows he's hit a nerve, and it's funny that he and Damian share the same one these days.

"He's not my father!" Bruce's spawn snaps, before forcing himself to speak more eloquently through gritted teeth. "I didn't come here to fight you, Todd, I came to talk."

"Well ain't that a shame, I'm just not in a talking mood these days. Especially not to little shits like _you_." Fighting Damian if he really is powered by super pills will be an exercise in futility, but not one Jason is entirely against engaging in; even getting the shit kicked out of you can be cathartic at times. "Run back to Superman, demon brat."

Damian snorts, prowling forwards towards Jason. He's taller than Jason now, six-foot something and built out of solid muscle, wearing a bastardised version of the Nightwing costume that would have Dick rolling over in his grave. The grave Damian put him in.

Jason waits until he's up good and close before pulling the trigger.

"Seriously?" Damian shrugs off the flattened piece of lead from his shoulder like he's the big man himself, before reaching to crush the barrel of Jason's gun as if it's made of paper. " I see you are as much of an imbecile now as you were before, Todd."

He just wanted to see up close and personal how effective the pills were, but he doesn't need to let Damian in on that.

"And I see you're still hiding behind the notion that you're superior to everyone else for no God damn reason." He mocks as he lets the gun hit the floor the moment Damian lets go of it, it's useless now. "So what's the point of this visit, come to try and kill me too? Or maybe drag me off to that secret super prison you're all so fond of tossing people you don't like into."

Jason doesn't wait for Damian to answer before turning his back on him and heading for the fridge, intent on scoring at least one of the Scandinavian beers he likes so much before he has to torch and abandon this safehouse. He twists the cap off, taking a swig before turning around and leaning back against the kitchen counter, studying the baby brother he never really got to know before.

"No, I -" Damian looks hesitant for the first time since he broke into Jason's apartment, but only briefly. "I came to make you an offer."

"Let me guess, you want me to join Supes crusade?"

Damian nods instantly, and colour Jason surprised for that. "You're the only one of fa - of Batman's lineage who has yet to choose a side. We know you haven't been working with his resistance, and with us you could do the very thing you wanted of Batman to begin with."

No, Jason hasn't been working with Batman. In fact he's been trying to stay as far away from the whole mess as he can, preferring to watch from afar with mixed feelings Kal-El's brazen bid for world domination disguised as the hand of a benevolent god. He's watched villains and heroes both fall, watched Bruce's identity be outed to the masses and mourned the loss of the ideological alien that was; a man who was more humane than any human.

"That's just the thing, Damian, I asked one thing of _Bruce_ , not Superman."

"He killed the Joker! Surely you -"

"Yeah, and then him and his cronies killed Green Arrow, Black Canary and Huntress to name a few, and let's not forget about the times that he's almost killed B and set himself up as dictator." Jason says flatly, shooting Damian down without hesitation. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad the Joker's dead, but I'm not exactly enthusiastic about playing subject to Supes power trip either."

Damian grits his teeth, "We're making the world a better place."

"Yeah, and you know how many bad guys have told themselves that?" He sips his beer, relishing the cool rush down his dry throat. "I mean, c'mon, there's your grandfather for one."

"Don't you dare bring grandfather into this."

Jason wonders what it means that Damian will still call Ra's grandfather but only refer to Bruce as Batman. "Why not? Talia and Ra's would be so proud of you now if they were still around, after you've gone and done exactly what -"

He doesn't get to finish. Damian slams into him with a strength that's frightening, forcing all the air out of Jason's lungs as he pushes him down over the counter. _Little shit_ Jason thinks almost fondly as he claws at the hand wrapped around his throat. He might as well be hitting marble for all the good it does.

"Does it make you feel better to spout drivel than do something meaningful, Todd?" Damian sneers into his face, his stupid overgrown hair brushing Jason's skin. "Does it cover for your many failures in life?"

"Dunno," Jason wheezes, "Does taking up that costume make you feel better about _your_ shitty choices?"

Bingo. There's no better way of knowing you've gotten under someone's skin than when they try to hurt you for it, and boy does Damian hurt him for it.

Jason crashes into his coffee table, after flying over the back of the couch with a force he can't hope to counter. He picks himself up from the splintered remains, knowing the neighbours won't do anything about the noise since Jason always chooses to live among the dregs of society, and even if they did the only people they could call are the ones who would be on Damian's side since the actual cops were disbanded over a year ago. It's a shitty, shitty world they live in.

A fist catches him in the jaw and there's the familiar taste of blood in his mouth as he stumbles back into his TV. "Fucker!" Jason coughs, spitting red onto the carpet and throwing the beer bottle he'd miraculously kept hold of at Damian's face. "That cost me fifty bucks."

Damian doesn't even give him the benefit of a witty quip in return before he's on him again. They dance the best they can in such close quarters, with Jason landing punches and kicks that do next to nothing while getting his ass thoroughly wailed upon. By the time he's down for good, wheezing from broken ribs and what feels like a cracked cheekbone, he's starting to wish he'd kept his mouth shut.

"Todd." Damian lifts him by the front of his shirt, dragging Jason up from the floor like a rag doll. "I hoped you'd be smarter than this, I... I thought _you_ of all people would understand what we're trying to do here."

"Is that meant to be a compliment?" Jason prods at his teeth with his tongue, trying to see if he'll have to look up another underground dentist this week. "I don't feel complimented."

The frustrated and disgusted noise that Damian makes is worth it. "I'm trying to give you a chance."

"Really? Because it feels to me like you're desperately trying to find approval from the only other person still around who used to wear a Robin suit." Damian pales in the face of Jason's words. "You and I are both pale imitations of Grayson, kid. Neither of us can ever live up to the golden boy."

"That's why you should understand, you -"

"Dick's dead." Jason states flatly, like his feet aren't dangling an inch from the floor. He doesn't even know what happened to Tim, except he's been missing for years alongside the rest of the Titans. "The world's gone to hell and I don't want any part of your God damn war of ideologies. I'm doing what I've always done, what I'm best at, and taking care of the people who actually deserve my help. The ordinary folks who still get shit on no matter who's in charge. So you can take that to big blue and tell him to shove it."

Damian glares at him and it's only half as effective as the kid would obviously like it to be. "It doesn't work that way, sooner or later you're going to have to make a choice. If you're not with us then you're against us."

"Lovely paranoid mentality you've got there, I wonder what big brother would think if he were still around." A second later, when he's sliding down the wall with blood coming out the back of his head, Jason wonders what it is about himself that he just can't stop pushing buttons.

"You're just like him," Damian growls, and Jason doesn't even have to question to know who 'him' is. There's an air of desperation to the kid's voice, "It was an accident. It was an accident but you all blame me anyway!"

It's unfair, Jason knows, but so is life. The kid should know better than to come seeking solace from him when he's as unforgiving as the Bat ever was, maybe more so. But Damian can't know the things that make Jason tick, the same as he can't know the real reason he'll never forgive him for having Dick's blood on his hands. "Tha's nice."

He may have a concussion now.

"Todd?" He feels kevlar against his face, hands force his chin up a second later before a light shines in his eyes and Jason groans, trying not to look when unconsciousness beckons him ever so invitingly. "Todd!"

Damian sounds panicked, which is funny. He probably doesn't want to shoot two for two on the fratricide scale.

Jason has the dim sensation of being lifted up from the floor, then darkness.

 

*

 

Jason wakes up six hours later on his couch, alone, with a bandaged head and a glass of water sitting on the floor in front of him. 

He doesn't reach for it right away. Instead he moves his hand up to prod at his head, and winces as pain ricochets around his skull. Well, he's not dead again. That's a good start. 

It sure was nice of Damian to patch up what he'd broken before he'd left.

"I know what you're thinking," Jason says to the empty air, his sole companion these days, "I should've made an effort, should've tried to talk the kid round rather than spitting in his face." He hauls himself up into a sitting position and bends down, insides lurching with nausea as he picks up the glass and the small piece of card underneath it.

There's a phone number written on the underside, as well as a small green pill. The invitation's still open then.

Jason drains the glass of water in one go, slips the pill into his pocket and then tears the card in half. "Sorry Dickie bird, but that's just not me."

"I know, Jason."

Falling off the couch really isn't conducive to healing his injuries. "Dick?!"

Dick Grayson, dead these past four years, stands in Jason's wrecked apartment with an expression that's equal parts pained and apologetic. "What the fuck!"

He's going crazy, he's finally, once and for all, gone nuts.

"It's me, little wing." Dick holds up his hands quickly. He's still wearing his Nightwing suit, though the emblem on the front has been overwritten by a large letter 'D'. "I swear, it's really me."

"You're alive?!" Jason's head is pounding, from pain, shock, and the beginnings of a filthy rage because if Dick's been alive this whole time he's going to scream, and then he's going to beat the ever living daylights out of him.

"No. I -" His elder brother risks taking a step closer to him, "No Jason. I'm sorry."

Jason starts to laugh, real and hysterical. He has to cover his mouth to try and muffle it as his shoulders shake. It was too much to ask for lightning to strike twice, right? He still thinks he might be insane though.

"Do you remember Deadman?" Dick's kneeling before him. He doesn't have a shadow Jason realises distantly, living people have shadows. "Well, he got... hurt. His spirit couldn't stay on this plane any longer, and so I got offered the job."

"Oh God," Jason manages eventually, "it's really you, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Jay, it's really me."

This isn't right. Just yesterday Jason had been taking down rapists, pimps and drug dealers as normal, doing the job the rest of them had forgotten how to do and ignoring the larger scheme of things out of a respect for not wanting to get crushed under the heel of an alien god, and now, in the space of twenty-four hours. it's all gone to shit.

"How long?" He swallows, trying not to think of what it was to have blue-black fingers wound into his hair, or the phantom press of lips against his. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Over a year." Dick says softly, his hand reaching out to brush over Jason's knee, cold and intangible. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner."

"Why the fuck didn't you?!" His voice sounds strangled even to his own ears, "What the hell have you been doing all this time?!" Jason demands, then cuts himself off with another burst of deranged laughter. "No, no wait, don't tell me. You've been running round after Bruce haven't you? Doing what you can to help his suicidal crusade."

The look on Dick's face, guilty but determined, is all the answer Jason needs. "Fuck me."

"I'm sorry, Jason." Dick says again, "I didn't... I was afraid seeing me would only hurt you. I thought you'd moved on, and -"

"Shut up." Jason squeezes his hands in and out of fists. He wants to touch Dick so badly, wants to pull him close and punch him and kiss him and - but he can't, because here or not, Dick's still dead. "Just shut up. You think I moved on? Look at me! I live alone, I have no Goddamn friends left, Dick! This shitty war has taken _everything_ from me, and that's without me even trying to get involved."

"I'm -"

"If you say you're sorry one more time, ghost or not, I will find a way to hurt you."

Dick snaps his mouth shut, looking suitably chastened. He mirrors Jason's position, looking as though he aches to touch him as much as Jason aches to be touched, neither of them getting what they want.

"It really was an accident. My death."

"I know." Jason answers bitterly, "That's the only reason I didn't try and hunt Damian down. Brat or not, I know the kid loved you. Doesn't mean I forgive him for it though."

His words still make Dick smile with relief. "I know, Jason."

"Whatever." It's not right, none of this is right. "I just can't believe you'd choose to come back to get mixed up in this mess again. Does the kid know?"

"He knows, he saw me before. I told him it was okay."

"Of course you did," Jason groans. His head hurts so much. "And now he's wearing your old suit, acting like he's some righteous big shot."

"He needs someone, Jason. After Bruce disowned him, he needs someone. He's still just a kid."

Well fuck that. "I know what you're thinking, Dick, and it's not going to be me. I don't want to get in the middle of this shit."

"Jason please, you could help, and now that Damian's sought you out you're going to end up involved, one way or another. You're on Kal's radar now." Dick looks pleadingly at him, "You've got to consider this."

"Forgive me for not being eager to rush towards my death again, Dick." Still, Dick's right. He's not sure if Superman just didn't know Jason had come back from the dead before, or if he'd forgotten him in the chaos of everything else that's happened these five years, but if Damian has reminded him of that fact then Jason can surely expect a follow-up visit soon. "How bad is he?"

Dick looks much the same was as he did that night when he first came to Jason after the Joker's murder, looking for answers from the only family he had who was willing to take a life. Jason can still remember it, the desperation in Dick's eyes as he asked Jason if he thought Clark would be okay, and the resulting desolation when Jason hadn't been able to give him an answer. "Bad. It's getting easier for him to find excuses to kill now."

That's what Jason was afraid of. Killing is easy, that's the trick of it, you can pull the trigger and boom, problem solved. It's drawing the line that's hard, it's staying away from the point of no return that proves what kind of person you are. Jason kills, he's a killer, but he does it with a strict code of deciding when killing is the right action and he never, ever lets himself enjoy it. The day Jason enjoys killing someone is the day he hangs up his guns for good.

Maybe he understands why Bruce could never let himself take even one life now.

"And you want me to run towards that."

"I want you to do what's right."

Jason groans. "You know you're just as much of a demanding asshole dead as you were when you were alive."

"So you'll think about it?" Dick says, with the annoying air of someone who knows they've won, or at least planted a seed.

"I'll think about it, but I'm not promising you jack shit."

"That's good enough for me, little wing."

Jason passes his hand over his face, swallowing. He can already see the path to take if he follows through, knowing that Bruce would never turn down having a man on the inside - that is if he can bring himself to trust Jason again. But Jason doesn't want to think about that right now, not with Dick right here in front of him.

It's strange how the memory of those few nights they shared sticks with him, how the smell and taste of Dick is burned into his skin, never to be forgotten. He doesn't even know if they could have worked out in the long term or not, but what they'd so briefly had haunts him with the possibility of unrealised potential.

Tragedy was writ large in the life of Jason Todd, whether he wished it or no.

"It was good, wasn't it?" Jason asks after a moment, trying not to focus on the parts of Dick he can see through. "What we had."

Dick looks broken for a moment, all that death holding him down the same way it does Jason. Maybe Jason breathes now, maybe he has a corporeal form, but the grave still clings to him as much as it does Dick.

If only Dick could have come back the same way.

"Yeah, Jay, it was." Those ghostly fingers brush ineffectually against his and Jason shivers at the touch. "I wish -"

"I know." Jason doesn't want him to say anymore than that, doesn't want either of them to torment themselves with what-ifs and maybes anymore than they already have. The opportunity is gone, lost to time, and Jason's spent too long getting over that fact to backtrack now. "It's okay."

He gives it another minute before continuing, "So, you going to stick around? Be my own personal poltergeist and watch me in the shower?"

That gets a smile out of Dick, and even blue and ghostly he's enough to make anyone's heart ache. He so briefly wonders how Bruce must have felt to be faced with the new reality of Dick's existence. "Not this time, little wing, but maybe another day."

Jason watches him stand, or float up, whatever it is ghosts do. "I'll hold you to that."

"I'm sure." Dick hesitates and then he swoops down, and even though Jason sees it coming it still surprises him to feel the phantom chill across his mouth where lips should be. The sound Dick makes as he fails to make contact is terrible, hungry and lost and regretful, "Damn it, I -"

"Just go, Dick." Jason just barely stops himself from trying to push him away, from making the mistake of pushing his hand through Dick's chest. "Go."

He goes, vanishing as if he'd never been, and Jason gives himself a moment before standing up and stumbling towards the kitchen for another glass of water to try and ease the pounding in his head. There's good painkillers in the bathroom when he can think of walking that far, then after that a change of clothes, right before he abandons this apartment for another across the city.

After that who knows, maybe he'll call the old man and stick his neck out in this war after all.

**Author's Note:**

> /peeks out
> 
> Did I mention I'm a sucker for tragic romances? Because I totally am.


End file.
